


Three orphans in a boat

by DragonLdy



Category: game of thrones
Genre: F/M, Forced Abortion, Previous abuse (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9050233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonLdy/pseuds/DragonLdy





	

Life on the quiet isle was consistent, and often monotonous; he dragged the bodies from the shore where they washed up and he dug graves for the bodies, his days rarely varied, he had a second wheelbarrow for useful things like driftwood; many of the bodies had armour or swords on them as well as that most valuable of commodities: wool. Winter was coming and good clothing was nearly worth its weight in gold. Today was no different; the beach was littered with flotsam and jetsam from the two rivers and he could see he would have a full day's work ahead of him. Bending down to pick up the driftwood he heard a call on the wind, the mist was rolling in off the river and he could not see more than a few feet out into the water but he was sure he had heard something. He remained stock still, not daring to even readjust his feet for fear he would miss it, his bad leg began to ache painfully but years of being a disciplined soldier made him hold his post. He heard the cry again: a baby's cry small and shrill somewhere out in the mist.

He ran into the icey water towards the cry and met the little row boat; it could have drifted to shore on its own or it could have been carried by the current around and out of the island, he hadn't been willing to take the risk so he had bounded out to it. He saw that there was more than one person in the boat and a little hand was sticking up out of a blanket belonging to a babe no more than six months old. He took the tow line which had been trailing uselessly in the water and pulled the little boat ashore. When he had it secured on the bank he ran to the signal bell and rang it, this was not the first time injured people had been found on the beach and the silent brothers had a bell set up decades earlier so that they could call for assistance in such cases without breaking their sacred vows of silence. After he rang it he ran back to the little boat to assess the damage (carefully adjusting his head scarf to cover his scars) the baby was cold and dangerously blue in coloring, he lifted it out first and wrapped it under his coat to share some body heat with it, careful to keep it above his wet clothing, the water had felt like a thousand ice cold knives stabbing him all over his legs and he was already shivering but he knew the babe needed his warmth more than he did. The bottom of the boat was full of ice cold water that the other occupants had been sitting in, 'most likely dead' he thought and he moved the blanket aside to see a little boy's face with a tuft of dark curly hair; close to death but still breathing. He moved the second cloak more and recoiled from the sight.

Her hair was dark brown and short, her heart shaped face was deathly pale and she was covered in bruises. For a moment he thought her dead and was helpless to know what to do. At that moment several brothers joined him and he quickly handed the baby to one of them and lifted the young girl from the boat. At first he thought the wetness under her skirt was water from the boat but as he walked up the hill towards the safety of their houses he smelt the familiar metallic smell of blood. Laying her down in Elder Brother's healing room he took away his hands to find them covered in blood. As was the entire seat of her worn woolen dress. She was having a miscarriage.

He didn't tell Elder Brother who she was; just demanded that he see to her first which he did, he examined her body and removed her wet and soiled clothing; it disgusted Sandor that a man must touch her in that way, must examine her there in her most private area to discern where the blood was coming from. He could do nothing but hold her hand and keep her covered as best he could. Elder Brother worked for a while before he noticed Sandor's shivering and told him to go and change which he refused and the two men worked over her for a while longer as her skin which was blue from cold slowly turned pink as they lit her a fire and put warming pans in the bed with her.

When Sandor finally did leave her side it was to check on the baby and the boy, she was covered in blood and elder brother had wanted to wash her, had it been any other man touching her Sandor would have hurt them before letting them do such a thing but as it was him he decided to give them some privacy. The boy was likewise suffering from the cold and had been put into a room with a large fire and was soaking in a hot bath as two silent brothers rubbed his hands in an attempt to ward off the first signs of frost bite. The baby was in another brother's arms, wrapped up in side his cloak as he shared warmth with her as Sandor had with her earlier. Taking a close look at the boy Sandor was sure he recognized him from somewhere; he was pale but had freckles across his nose and the telltale tan lines that showed he was a person who lived predominantly outside, he was young though his face showed signs of wear and tear, he had a lot of bruises showing he had been in a fight recently, most likely restrained and tied up, his nose was broken and someone had tried to reset it, he was thin but his arms had developed muscles in them showing he was an active boy, he must have put up a fight judging by the number and pattern of the marks on his body though nothing too long lasting apart from a few broken ribs.

He went to the baby and looked down at her in the other brother's arms, there was only one person she could be: Lady Sansa Stark's child, her child with Tyrion fucking Lannister. The thoughts of that creepy little dwarf laying a hand on her got is blood up and the thought of that creep putting a babe in her made him want to break something. He looked down at the baby with all of the hate and anger that the Hound was known for showing in his face and she opened her eyes and looked straight at him. She had bright blue eyes, a different shade from her mother's but big and beautiful all the same, she looked up at him with pudgy little cheeks and a mouth stained white with the goat's milk they had been feeding her and gave him a wide little smile, he was sure she couldn't really see him, hooded and scarred as he was few children smiled at him but she looked him straight in the face fearlessly the way only a babe in arms can. He leaned down and wiped a stray drop of milk from her chin and she reached out one tiny pudgy hand and grabbed his finger; holding it tight in that iron grip babies have. He picked her up then and continued her feeding, telling the other brother to take a brake and he shared his warmth with the tiny fragile creature who like her mother had touched his heart with her smile.

There were no wet nurses or nursing mothers on the Isle so the babe continued to be fed on goat's milk, she wore whatever they could find that fit her and slept in Sandor's arms most of the day and night, her big blue eye often opening and her gaze locking with his. This was the Heiress to the North, the Trident and Casterly Rock and the West and she wore rough spun wool that had been cast off by peasants, it would have been funny if it wasn't so awful. Every day he carried her to her mother who still hadn't awoken, the blood loss and the exposure lead to a bad fever and he was not allowed to bring the babe to her again for fear her fever was catching. The boy eventually woke from his own fever; he was thin and weak and was only happy when he had the baby in his arms, he did not speak to any of them except Elder Brother who managed to gain his trust because of his station as a holy man. The lad after much coaxing finally admitted he was the sworn shield to both girls, that they had been living with some men that said they were knights but they were not true knights, he seemed absolute in that, they had hurt her, he broke down in tears as he lamented not being able to protect her. He told the story in fits and starts until eventually they had a picture of the event; the men had held him down while they hurt her and he had tried to fight but they stole his dagger and beat him. That he had managed to escape with the two of them but they had no food and "Lyra" as he called the little bird had been very sick. "I couldn't rescue her, I wanted to be her true knight and protect her but I couldn't rescue her, they were too strong and too many." The boy cried into Septon Ray's tunic of his failure, obviously consumed by his guilt. It was another week of watching the boy at meals before Sandor realised who the boy was: Lord Robin Arryn, Lord Protector of the Vale and the Little Bird's cousin. What the hell had happened to them?


End file.
